How Not To Use - The Complete Office Desk Guide
by Zarathustrian
Summary: Bridget looses track of what is real and what isn't in this one-shot between Westfall and Doyle and a desk.


Disclaimer - These characters were created by Lara Radulovich, David Hannam Reg Watson. I do not own the characters of Bridget Westfall and/or Franky Doyle. I borrow them without permission (though with gratitude) from Fremantle Australia.

Note - This one-shot is set before S03E07's revelation between Franky and Bridget towards the end of the episode.

Bridget Westfall closed her eyes. The ocean of manila yellow disappeared from sight, replaced with a calm azure. Franky Doyle possessed such a hue to her gaze, though it wouldn't be fair to say those eyes always held the sense of calm Bridget currently sought.

Stretching bare feet which were crossed at the ankles forward, Bridget rolled the office chair backwards. The throne like leather lined seat bent to her will with ease and she stood up, eyes open and wide.

Into one pile she began to organise folders for tomorrow's list of prisoners wanting to speak with the psychologist. Next, folders to be returned to the steel cabinet, painted a shade almost as unpleasant as the folders themselves, though it did at least offer five drawers over the standard four. The furniture stood in the corner beside Bridget'sdesk, a menacing tower.

'Ms. Westfall?' Officer Miles' voice broke through Bridget's reverie rudely and she had to quickly push a smile into place before granting permission to enter to the Corrections Officer. It was Franky Doyle who entered, a brief glimpse of Miles' unpleasant disposition behind the confident strut of the dark haired beauty.

'Heading home for the night?' Franky asked, folding arms across her chest.

'Trying to be.' Bridget allowed.

'Can't decide what to leave behind, what to take?' Franky, as she spoke, reached out with her hands, placing one palm on each of the two piles of folders Bridget had been garnishing together.

'Something like that.' Bridget did not disguise the lingering glance she gave Franky's chest as the younger woman eased forward on the desk. 'Comfortable?' Arching an eyebrow, Bridget ran her tongue across her lips. Franky chuckled.

'Trying to be.'

'That's not how you use a desk, Franky.' Bridget's tone lowered, voice husky as she spoke.

'Really, Gidget? That so?'

'Really.'

'You're just going to stand there, aren't you?' Franky smirked.

Bridget swallowed thickly as she nodded.

'They say you should stand, if you're at a desk all day.'

'Or an armchair.'

Two sets of eyes looked to the distinct yellow armchairs across from the desk Bridget stood rigidly behind. Franky smirked at the memory, gave her lower lip a swipe with her thumb as she stood, walking slowly around the desk.

'Standing and doing...' Franky stopped behind Bridget, placing one hand on Bridget's shoulder, 'A few light,' She then swiftly reached forward with one hand and positioned Bridget with her feet apart, upper body bent forward, leaving Bridget with no choice but to splay both hands on the folders and scattering the piles she'd made. 'Stretches.'

With a gentle sigh, Bridget playfully thrust her backside against Franky who remained locked in behind the honey-flecked brunette. The hand she had placed upon Bridget's shoulder went to the hip instead and she pried her touch from the manilla folder to run the back of her fingers along the nape of Bridget's neck. Bridget let her head tilt with ease to one side as Franky continued to trail her touch in exploration, fluttering downwards.

Bridget's shoulder blade flexed back as Franky almost grazed past the most sensitive spot the psychologist had thus far revealed. With a chuckle, Franky pressed the front of her body against the back of Bridget's as she eased both women forward, using the desk to leverage them both enough to bring her lips where her fingertips had been, flicking her tongue there swiftly before standing upright.

Gasping, chest heaving, Bridget howled quietly, dipping her head before arching back.

'Franky.' Bridget trilled. With eyelids heavy, Bridget turned her head enough to reveal the desire running rampant through her. 'I'm not so sure,'

The sentence went unfinished, would remain so as Franky spun the older woman in one deft move and brought their bodies together as if they had not parted at all. Cupping Bridget's face with both hands, Franky kissed Bridget. Tenderly, with measured passion and familiar ease that caught Bridget by surprise.

Of course she could not deny the purely physical, animalistic attraction she felt for the prisoner. It went deeper than simply two women matching one another on a physical level; Bridget would go toe-to-toe with Franky Doyle at her worst and a part of the professional found that to be the most intriguing, almost intimate, act Franky could perform. Sure, behaving came easy. Showing true colours, that meant more to Bridget.

The kiss, the combining of their two passions, it brought forth something else, something Bridget hadn't seen coming. All the playful banter. The wicked smirking, over confident strut and bold ego unholstered at all times, it boiled away. Francesca Doyle was not just some piece of unpliable steel.

Which even as the thought crossed her mind, Bridget found herself pressed up against precisely that; cold steel. The filing cabinet would no longer just be that ominous presence in the room. Gasping, breaking their kiss, Bridget brought her hands to Franky's hips, pulling them closer. With a giggle, Bridget began to tug at the drawstrings, the ones barely holding the trackpants upon Franky's hips.

'Gidget. Wait.'

'Franky?' Smokey eyeshadow enveloped Bridget's royal blues.

'I,' Franky stopped, caught a glimpse of uncertainty in Bridget's gaze. 'I want you, touching me.' Confidence reclaimed Bridget's graceful features. 'I also want me,' Franky moved her hand, faster than a scorpion striking, between Bridget's thighs. 'Fucking,'

'Franky.' Bridget moaned softly, trusting in the touch of the inmate as she danced their two bodies back to the desk, urging Bridget forward. Once more they stood, Franky behind the psychologist. Bridget panted, giving a soft gasp through parted lips as Franky brought her hand down Bridget's lower back, her tight behind and to the heat between Bridget's thighs.

The sound Bridget made became gutteral at that, she thrust against the touch.

'Fuck.' Bridget began breathing sharply, in and out in time with the way Franky's hand moved over the coarse pantsuit material Bridget wore. 'Franky, more.' When the opposite occured, when Franky slowed her pace, Bridget grunted.

'Careful, Gidge. Don't you just want to enjoy each moment?' Slowing her touch further, Franky ensured Bridget remained against the desk with her other hand still encouring the tall women to remain with feet spread-eagled. When she took her hand from between Bridget's thighs entirely, she shushed the protest Bridget tried to give.

Franky shook a random strand of hair from her face, reaching her arm around Bridget's waist. With lips parted, Bridget gave a laugh. That laugh morphed into a cry of pleasure as Franky made short work of the zip on Bridget's pants.

'Oh. You're a sly one, are you?' Franky felt a throb between her own legs as she quickly discovered Bridget's lack of underwear beneath the starch material the older woman wore.

'I believe,' Bridget thrust against the waiting fingers, 'Slick is the word you're looking for.'

'Do you, now?' Taking ahold of Bridget, Franky wrapped one arm around Bridget's waist entirely while with the other hand, she slipped two fingers through the wetness and inside of Bridget.

'Fuck. Franky, fuck.' Bridget threw herself back, Franky keeping their bodies anchored together until the filing cabinet bore their weight once again. Thrusting her hips, Bridget let her head fall back. Franky held the woman's body firmly, the arm around Bridget's waist inching downwards until her hand unbuttoned the single button at the top of Bridget's pants.

When Franky combined the graze of her thumb over Bridget's clit, the psychologist cried out as she went rigid then began whimpering as orgasm rained down upon her. Convulsing in Franky's arms, Bridget rode the waves as they began to ebb and flow slowly, having felt like thunder at first.

Franky held Bridget gently, a tender smile on her face as she watched the various looks as they danced across graceful features, elegant yet out of control which was exactly how she'd wanted to see Bridget; unhinged.

Bridget exhaled slowly. Finally standing on her own two feet, she detangled herself from Franky.

With a knowing smile, she took the hand which had only minutes ago been rather occupied and pulled Franky forward. Urging the former Top Dog to spin on her heel and take several steps back, Bridget escorted Franky onto the desk, ignoring the importance of the files beneath the pair.

Kneeling, Bridget placed one hand on each of Franky's thighs. Looking upwards, she gave a smirk of her own.

'I'm going to taste,'

'Ms Westfall?' Linda Miles bore a stranger than usual look on her face, though it couldn't look anymore puckered.

Bridget snapped her head up. The thigh cupped in her hand morphed back into the pen it actually was, held pinched between Bridget's fingertips. The beige folders were stacked neatly, two perfect piles.

'Officer Miles. Can I help you?'

'It's dark outside.'

'Oh. Is it?' Bridget feigned interest in looking out the office window, ignoring the fact that she'd hoped for a glimpse of Franky yet settled for the flash of filing cabinet instead.

'Yeah. Quarter past ten.'

'Right. Thanks, then, Linda. I should head home.'

'Get out while you can.' Linda chuckled at herself, like the retort had been clever and entirely original. The tight lipped woman snickered her way out of the doorway, leaving a blushing Bridget to sling her satchel over one shoulder before hurrying for the door herself.

With any luck, the journey to her small yet comfortable home wouldn't take any longer than usual and she could continue the thought the C.O had disrupted. A glass of red, perhaps a bubble bath. Either way, Bridget knew Franky would be right there with her; in thought if not in deed.


End file.
